


Clean Slate

by hiddenscribbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-19
Updated: 2003-09-19
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenscribbles/pseuds/hiddenscribbles
Summary: After a Quidditch match, Draco finds Harry alone in the showers.





	Clean Slate

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks must go first to my smut beta, LadyVader, who insisted this was wonderfully hot and gave me a title, and who I could not have done this without, and to Jen and Ashley who added the final touches. 
> 
> This was written for the lovely MaudlinRose on the occasion of her birthday.

Harry stood under the shower, letting the water course down over his body and soothe his sore muscles. The spray was set to the highest temperature the boy could stand, and steam was pouring out of the stall.  
  
Leaning forward, he rested his head against the cool tiles, letting the water beat down his back. His hair was falling into his eyes, but Harry was too tired to raise a hand to push it away.  
  
Today had been his final Quidditch match at Hogwarts. In what had become the standard, his team had once again played Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. And, in what had become another standard, Gryffindor had prevailed, this time with a score of 200- 50. The Gryffindor team had looked good, but yet it had come down to the typical race for the Snitch.  
  
Malfoy had, as usual, been tailing him the entire match. Harry had amused himself by going into dives as if he'd seen the Snitch, and watching as Draco dutifully followed. Of course, once Harry had actually seen the small golden ball, all thoughts of amusement left his head. He absolutely refused to lose to Draco Malfoy during his last ever match at school.  
  
He'd pointed his  _FireboltX4_  at a forty-five degree angle to the ground and dove, wind rushing in his ears, the sound deafening. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen the Slytherin copy the move, a look of intense focus on his face. Harry was sure he himself had been wearing the same expression.  
  
The Snitch chose that moment to shoot back up into the air, and Harry had followed it, nearly close enough to close his fingers around it, Malfoy almost in line with him. Harry released his right hand from its place on his broom, fingers stretched out, a silent plea of " _grab it, grab it, grab it_ " running through his head. The blond had also reached out a hand, fingers scrabbling at the back of the Gryffindor's hand, trying anything to keep the black-haired boy from reaching his prize.  
  
And then, it was over.  
  
Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch and he'd barely restrained himself from letting out a "whoop" of joy. Gryffindor had won.  
  
Malfoy, who was not, needless to say, pleased with this, let out a sound that resembled a growl and promptly slammed his elbow into Harry's side. The impact nearly unseated the Gryffindor from his broom, and although he managed to hold on, the jolt had put the broom into a dive, and Harry had been helpless to stop it.  
  
Just as he thought he was going to hit the ground, his fall was slowed slightly, and he ended up landing in a heap on the pitch, with nothing but two bruised knees and one bruised elbow to show for it. He'd promptly looked up, directly into a pair of silver eyes alight with mirth.  
  
"What the hell, Malfoy?" he'd asked, still gripping the Snitch in his hand. His knees were screaming at him to shift his weight, and he'd obliged by moving to sit fully on the grass.  
  
"What?" the Slytherin had asked nonchalantly, landing softly on the pitch, one hand holding his broom.  
  
Harry had simply glared at him and promptly been swarmed by his team-mates, all congratulating him on his fabulous catch and shooting disdainful looks over their shoulders at Draco. Harry had managed to sneak away from them, intent on finding Hermione, certain that she had been the one to slow his fall.  
  
"Harry!" he heard her exclaim, and turned in the direction of the sound. He saw her trying to shove her way between the jubilant Gryffindors, ducking to avoid an exuberant gesture by Seamus Finnigan. "Are you all right?" she asked finally, upon reaching him, slightly breathless from her jog across the pitch.  
  
"Yes, thanks to you," Harry said, grabbing her arm to move her slightly away from his celebrating teammates.   
  
"What are you talking about, Harry?" she asked, confusion clear on her face. "I didn't do anything. I saw you falling, but couldn't get to my wand fast enough."  
  
Harry blinked in surprise at this. "Well, then what happened?"  
  
She shook her head. "I don't know, Harry. But you were really lucky."  
  
They'd then been separated when Seamus and Dean had appeared and lifted Harry up on their shoulders, singing what sounded like a poor rendition of  _Harry is our King_  and causing Harry to blush a very nice shade of maroon to match his Quidditch robes.  
  
He'd managed to get away from his fellow housemates and hidden below the bleachers until everyone had headed back up to the castle, intent on celebrating the victory into the early morning hours. Harry had no intention of attending any such party, though, and after making sure that everyone had indeed gone, he turned towards the Quidditch locker rooms.  
  
His muscles were screaming at him as he stripped off his uniform and tossed it carelessly on the ground, grabbing a towel and stepping into the showers. The locker room was completely deserted, his team-mates having foregone personal hygiene to go straight to the celebrations and Harry was thankful for this; he really wasn't in the mood for company.  
  
He was now standing under the hot water, forehead pressed against the tile wall, using one hand to rub absently at his elbow, which was still sore from its rather impromptu meeting with the ground. Sighing again, he stood up straight and reached for his shampoo, squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand, and rubbing his hands together to create lather. Lifting his arms caused a considerable amount of pain, no doubt from the rough landing outside, but he managed to shampoo his hair, gritting his teeth against the groan that wanted to escape. He was nothing if not the stereotypical Brave Gryffindor.  
  
He tilted his head back under the water and closed his eyes, running his fingers through the thick strands of ebony colored hair to remove the shampoo. Dropping his arms back to his sides, he turned again to lean against the wall.  
  
He picked up the bar of soap, rubbing it between his hands thoughtfully.  
  
Hermione had told him that she hadn't been the one to slow his fall to the pitch. And if that was the case, as Harry suspected, then that meant someone else had saved his life.  
  
The question was, who?  
  
Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up his washcloth and coated it in soap. Rubbing it slowly over his chest, he let his eyes fall shut again, and sighed in pleasure.  
  
The water felt good against him, but the cloth felt even better. He'd discovered in sixth year that Quidditch had an interesting side effect; it had a habit of making him quite... aroused.  
  
Of course, that could always have something to do with a certain gorgeous blond Slytherin seeker, as thoughts of him also seemed to cause the same side effect, so Harry tended to push those ideas away.  
  
However, he was now completely alone, and in the shower no less, so he figured it couldn't hurt to let those thoughts surface.  
  
And surface they did.  
  
In his mind, he pictured Draco, all blond hair, silver eyes, and long limbs. He saw Draco in his school robes, the black fabric contrasting so well with all that pale skin, Draco as he shoved a hand through his hair absentmindedly, chewing on the end of his quill while he worked on an Arithmancy problem. He saw the Slytherin in his Quidditch uniform, ivory toned hands with long fingers reaching for the Snitch. He could see Draco sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, laughing at a joke Pansy Parkinson had made, with a small smile on his face that no one else was supposed to see, but gave proof to the fact that he was human, too, and not just some cold calculating person intent on causing harm.  
  
The final image, the one that perhaps caused the deepest reaction in Harry, arose then, and the Gryffindor groaned aloud, dropping the cloth to the floor. It never ceased to amaze him at how easily his mind could pull up a picture of what Draco would look like naked, grey eyes glowing with arousal, and that arousal was due to something Harry was doing.  
  
Harry slid his right hand down his chest, and across his stomach, fingers trailing through the small line of hair that led to his groin. His fingers wrapped around his length and squeezed gently, the back of his head hitting the tile wall with quite a bit of force, and a long deep moan leaving his throat. Keeping his eyes closed, he concentrated on the sensations his hand was causing, tightening his grip, his breathing becoming shallow, as his desire built. He quickened his pace and let out another moan, which he tried to stifle by biting down on his lip. Sliding his other hand down to join the first, he squeezed and stroked at himself, until he finally exploded with a small mutter of "Fuck," stars alighting behind his closed eyelids.  
  
He dropped his hands and slumped against the wall, planting his feet to keep himself from falling to the floor. He took a couple of deep breaths to slow his breathing, water continuing to beat down on him from above.  
  
Suddenly there was a crash, and Harry jerked into a standing position, eyes opening, and hands instantly reaching for his glasses and slipping them on.  
  
And there, standing before him, with wide eyes, was a very surprised, and very aroused, Draco Malfoy, white towel clasped tightly in his hand.  
  
Harry felt his jaw fall open and was sure he was wearing an expression equivalent to a question mark. "Malfoy?" he finally asked, voice coming out in what oddly resembled a squeak.  
  
Draco simply blinked at him, then seemed to get a bit of his composure back, and nonchalantly moved the towel in front of him to hide his rather obvious erection.  
  
"Potter," he replied coolly.  
  
Harry's knees chose that moment to give out and he slid down the wall, falling in a heap on the floor. "Well, fuck," he murmured, still staring at the blond, water still flowing from the showerhead and coating his glasses. This was a most … interesting development.  
  
He finally looked past the Slytherin and saw that the rack, which held the towels, had fallen over, causing the noise. Draco was still staring at him, a faint blush apparent on that pale skin. Harry allowed his gaze to travel down the blond's body, and was pleased to note that the blush deepened. Seems he had quite the effect on his supposed nemesis.  
  
"Look, Malfoy," Harry began, and then stopped, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to say. His brain was giving him ideas ranging from "Let's pretend this never happened," to "Fancy a fuck?" but Harry supposed neither of those would be well received.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow in question, and took a rather small step towards the boy sprawled on the floor. "What?" he asked, eyes raking over Harry's body.  
  
This reminded Harry that he was very naked, and he felt a blush crawl up his face, which earned a smirk from his companion. Draco took another step towards him, then seemed to realize what he was doing, and stopped, blinking in horror.  
  
A sudden lurching in his chest forced Harry into action. He was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. Grabbing hold of his legendary Gryffindor courage, he suddenly stood and reached for his own towel, which was lying on the nearby bench. He wrapped it around his waist, then set his glasses carefully back on the bench, as he figured he would soon be close enough not to need them. He then took two rather large steps towards the other boy, who immediately backed up, suspicion clear enough on his face that Harry could see it even without perfect vision.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry said again, calmly reaching out a hand and closing it firmly around his upper arm. "I think you have a bit of a problem."  
  
Draco's eyes widened. "Oh?" he asked, his voice jumping up an octave.  
  
"Yes," Harry said, pulling the Slytherin closer. "And I think I can help you with it."  
  
The blond's breathing quickened, and Harry's found his own becoming shallow as well. He slid his hand down Draco's hip, fingers tightening almost enough to bruise.  
  
"You think so?" Draco choked out, eyes boring into Harry's own.   
  
"Yes," Harry said with a hiss, before closing the distance between the two of them. Their lips met, just a soft touch that was barely there, and Draco growled low in his throat. He dropped the towel he'd been holding in front of himself and pulled Harry closer, deepening the kiss. Their tongues met, practically dueling with each other, and Harry briefly wondered if everything between them would forever be a battle, but that thought was lost as the Slytherin ran the tip of his tongue across the roof of Harry's mouth, causing a gasp and a wave of pleasure to move through his body. Draco slid his hands up the Gryffindor's chest and hooked one around the back of his neck, using it to change the angle of the kiss, the other grasping Harry's shoulder fiercely.  
  
Harry gentled the kiss slightly, using his tongue to brush teasing strokes across Draco's own, before pulling away to catch his breath. The sight before him left him awestruck; Draco's eyes were closed, pale lashes brushing the tops of his flushed cheeks. His lips were slightly swollen from their kisses, and his breathing was shallow. His pulse was pounding in his throat, and Harry noticed that his own heartbeat was just as frantic. He brought his hands up from their place on the Slytherin's hips and cradled Draco's face in his palms. He lowered his head, tongue sneaking out to lick cautiously at the blond's pulse point, before tracing a trail up over his jaw line and to the spot directly behind his ear.  
  
Draco groaned, hands moving down and tightening in Harry's hair, head tilting to allow better access. His eyes slid open, and Harry saw that the pupils were dilated, nearly swallowing up all the grey. Harry drew him even closer, the action eliciting a hiss from both of them as their erections brushed together.  
  
"Fuck, Harry," Draco murmured, eyes falling shut again. Harry wanted the feeling of skin on skin, so he dropped one hand to his waist and undid the towel he'd hooked around himself. It fluttered to the floor and Harry stepped closer, one foot sliding between Draco's, their arousals meeting fully for the first time.  
  
Harry gasped, then lifted his head, mouth meeting Draco's waiting one. The kiss was fierce; there wasn't going to be anymore fooling around. Harry wanted Draco, and he wanted him now.  
  
He slid his hands down Draco's back, settling them on the narrow hips. His fingertips dug in, causing the skin to redden under the pressure. He used the grip to get Draco turned around so that he was standing with his back towards the wall. In a series of uncoordinated moves, he managed to get Draco against the shower wall, causing the Slytherin to jump in shock at the coolness of the tile against his back. The water from Harry's earlier shower was still running, flowing down over the Gryffindor's back. Harry fell to his knees, head tilted up to keep eye contact, wanting to make sure that Draco was okay with this.  
  
The blond's eyes were drilling into Harry's own, desire very much apparent in the silver gaze. His hands moved to the top of the black-haired boy's head, fingers twining through the thick strands. Harry tightened his grip on Draco's hips, mouth hovering above the head of Draco's cock. He slowly stuck out his tongue, sweeping it over the liquid settled across the top, then pulled back again, allowing the taste to penetrate his senses. It was nearly overwhelming, and Harry had to close his eyes briefly to get himself under control.  
  
"Harry," Draco gasped, fingers tightening convulsively, almost to the point of pain. His hips strained against the Gryffindor's hold that kept him pinned to the wall.  
  
Harry leaned forward again, this time taking Draco's entire length in his mouth in one fluid motion. The Slytherin moaned, head slamming against the tile wall, Harry's name seemingly ripped from his throat. The Gryffindor ran his tongue around Draco's cock once, then sucked hard. This action caused the blond's hips to buck, and Harry had to tighten his grip even more to hold him still. He continued to suck and tease and caress until Draco was nearly sobbing, a chorus of "Merlin, Harry," and "Fuck," and "Harder, please, harder," leaving his mouth. With one final stroke of his tongue, the Slytherin came, and Harry swallowed every drop.  
  
He released his hold on Draco's hips, allowing the boy to slide bonelessly down the wall. His eyes were still closed, breathing erratic; Harry could see the beating of his heart behind his ribs. Finally those eyes opened, a slightly dazed look in their depths. Draco let one leg slid down to the floor and stared at Harry, a calculating look beginning to form on his face.  
  
"Well," he finally said. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"  
  
Harry felt a grin appear on his face. "Here and there," he replied, one hand planted firmly on the Slytherin's chest, the other resting on a knee. He was currently on his knees, feet beneath him, between Draco's legs, and found that he didn't mind that position one bit.  
  
"Hmm," Draco replied nonchalantly before leaning forward to take Harry's mouth in another kiss. He somehow managed to manoeuvre Harry around so that his back was now to the wall and pulled him to his feet. The water cascaded down over Draco's head, causing the blond hair to fall in his eyes, only to be shoved impatiently back with one pale hand. "Well, now it's your turn."  
  
He added to that statement a wicked grin, and Harry nearly felt his knees give out. Draco pinned him to the tile, both hands planted against the wall on either side of the Gryffindor's body. He continued his assault of Harry's lips, only breaking the kiss to brush teasing swipes of his tongue across cheekbones and jaw line, the sound of Harry's moans spurring him on. He slid a knee between the black-haired boy's legs, using the leverage to keep Harry from moving.  
  
He took his hands away from the wall, brushing his fingertips across Harry's chest, pausing to pinch and pull at nipples, before continuing their journey down. Taking the Gryffindor's earlobe between his teeth, he bit lightly, a desperate moan rumbling from Harry's throat in response. The palm of Draco's hands brushed against the boy's abdomen, following the line of hair down to his groin.  
  
"Oh, Merlin," Harry groaned, eyes tightly closed. No one had ever touched him quite like this before. It felt like Draco was reaching into Harry's very soul, touching places hidden from everyone else. But Draco had never been "everyone else", so Harry supposed it was fitting somehow. His somewhat coherent thoughts were interrupted when Draco suddenly fell to his knees, hands sliding down slim hips to grasp tightly at his thighs.  
  
"Ready?" Draco asked, a devilish look in his eyes. Harry could only nod in response, and then proceeded to slam his head into the wall behind him as Draco took him into his mouth in one sudden move.  
  
This time there was no teasing; Draco sucked hard and relentlessly, causing Harry's knees to weaken and his hands to tighten around the pale shoulders, fingernails digging in and leaving crescent shape marks. The Slytherin swirled his tongue around Harry's length once, then twice, never slowing his pace, and Harry nearly sobbed.  
  
Draco slid one of his hands around Harry's inner thigh, and brushed a fingertip just across his entrance, not actually penetrating, but just grazing gently. This is what finally pushed Harry over the edge, and he exploded, Draco's name falling from his lips repeatedly in a chant, "Draco, Draco, Draco."  
  
The Slytherin didn't release his grip, but instead cradled Harry as he slid down the wall, legs unable to support him. Leaning forward, Draco brushed one more kiss across Harry's mouth, then reached up and turned off the water. The only sound in the room was Harry's breathing, still shallow and quick.  
  
Green eyes finally opened, regarding his companion silently. "Where the hell did you learn to do  _that_?"  
  
Draco laughed, an honest open sound. "Here and there."  
  
Harry smiled at him, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. He felt Draco run a hand across his forehead, pushing back the strands of hair that had fallen forward, and brushing a fingertip gently across the zigzag of his scar.  
  
"I'm sorry about earlier," Draco said softly, and Harry opened his eyes again.  
  
"Earlier?" Harry asked, reaching a hand out to trace lightly across the flushed cheekbones.  
  
"When I shoved you after you'd won," Draco replied, eyes downcast.  
  
"Oh," Harry said, blinking in surprise. Then the proverbial light bulb seemed to go on. "Was it you who slowed my fall?"  
  
Draco looked up, a cautious look in his eyes. "Yes," he said slowly, head tilted slightly.  
  
Harry smiled, bringing his hands up to frame the Slytherin's face. "Well, thank you."  
  
Draco's eyes widened in surprise, then closed as he drew in a deep breath. "Your welcome," he finally said, voice a whisper.  
  
Harry slid his hands up into the pale hair, tilting Draco's head back. Grey eyes met green as then opened. Their lips met, this time slowly, moving gently across each other, tongues barely touching. Harry pulled back, thumb brushing across a cheekbone. "So what other talents have you been hiding?"  
  
Draco grinned, a devious expression on his face. "Well..." he said, bringing his hands up to rest lightly against Harry's chest. "There's really only one way to find out."  
  
And find out he did.   
  
~FIN~


End file.
